Текст книги "The Attic Room: A psychological thriller"
Автор книги: Linda Huber
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sunday 30st July
Heathrow was mobbed as usual. Feeling more depressed by the minute, Nina glared round the crowds in the departures area.
‘Can I buy a magazine? Please? Except I don’t have any money left.’
Naomi was hopping impatiently from one foot to the other, and Nina made a face at her before handing over a ten pound note.
‘Here. But I want the change, okay?’
Naomi ran into the newsagent’s and began to investigate the magazine rack. Nina followed, unable to let her daughter out of her sight. They were travelling a day later than planned, but Nina couldn’t leave until she was sure Sam would be none the worse after his ordeal. They’d kept him in hospital till Saturday afternoon, and he’d had an almighty headache all day yesterday.
Nina shivered. They had still escaped lightly. Waiting at the hospital on Friday while the doctors examined Sam had been terrible. Only Glen and Cassie were allowed in with him, and Nina, unable to sit still, went up to the neurosurgery department to visit Sabine. What she saw there was horrifying; Sabine had wires and tubes connecting her to a life support system, the same kind Claire had been wired up to, and the right side of the young woman’s body was twisted and lame. David Mallony told her the doctors were talking of permanent brain damage now.
It was an incredible relief to go back downstairs to A&E and find Sam sitting up on his trolley talking to Glen and Cassie.
They spent Saturday quietly, visiting Sam in the morning and Emily in the afternoon. The old woman was visibly saddened, and Nina thought guiltily that Emily might well have been happier if they’d never met. But that was impossible now, and at least she could do something for her elderly relative. Cassie and Glen were going to visit regularly, and Nina knew that she and Naomi would travel down several times a year. Emily deserved that much at least. As for Paul – if George Wright agreed, she would have Paul’s ashes sent to Arran. She and Naomi would scatter them on the beach and her cousin’s last resting place would be a beautiful one.
Nina sat on the plane, eyes closed as they thundered along the runway and lifted into the sky over London. She’d come here to find out about her family, but questions still remained and something was telling her they’d never know the answers. Claire had lied, and all this happened. Nina remembered her mother’s blue eyes and the pride glowing on her face as she watched Naomi collect her prize at the Easter gymkhana. How Claire had loved being a Grandma… she was so much more relaxed after Naomi’s birth. A smile tugged at Nina’s lips – in spite of the lie, Claire had done her best for their little family. She believed that one hundred per cent.
When she opened her eyes the city was gone, and clouds and more clouds were rushing past the window. A lump rose in Nina’s throat. Somewhere down there was Sam, but in a few weeks’ time he’d be driving north, the secretaire in the back of his car. And right this minute Beth would be on the ferry approaching Ardrossan; she would drive up to Glasgow and the plane would land and the three of them would hug like they’d never let go.
Then later this afternoon they would all be back on the same ferry, the ‘Caledonian Isles’, heading for Arran.
Heading for home.
The End
Preview
If you enjoyed The Attic Room, you might be interested to read this extract of The Cold Cold Sea, Linda Huber’s second novel:
The Cold Cold Sea
Prologue
A glint in the sand caught her eye and she crouched down. It was a beautiful pink shell, exactly like the one she’d found yesterday. She eased it out from under a thick strand of brown seaweed and brushed it gently with one finger. It was covered in sand and wasn’t nice to hold like the other one. She looked round for someone to help, but her dad was right along the beach with his back to her, staring at something up towards the hotel. She hesitated for a moment. The sea was just nearby. She would wash the shell herself and then she would take it home and give it to her Granny. She smiled at the idea.
The sun was hot on her shoulders as she turned towards the water. It was difficult to rush along the loose sand; coarse grains were rubbing the skin between her toes. Nearer the ocean the beach firmed up and she stopped to empty her sandals. It was the only thing she didn’t enjoy about the beach, the way sand got everywhere.
What she liked best, of course, was the sea. It was like magic, the way the colour changed all the time. Today it was shining blue in the sunshine, sparkling like the jewels in her mother’s ring. She giggled as her toes met the first of the baby waves fizzing up the beach.
The water was cold but it was silvery-clear, rushing up round her ankles and pulling her in to play. She bent over and swirled the shell in the sea. Immersed in her task she rubbed and rinsed and rubbed again, oblivious to the cold water creeping up her legs. The shell was cleaning up nicely. It would look so pretty on her Granny’s windowsill, lined up with all the other shells they had collected last year.
Satisfied with her work, she stood up straight, jerking in surprise when she saw that the water was up over her knees now. She could feel the waves swirling round her legs, pulling her this way and that. It felt as if she was wobbling on a trampoline. It would be easier if there was someone to hold her hand. She looked back at the beach.
Both her parents were tiny figures in the distance now, much too far away to hear her if she called. The sea was right here, teasing her. She giggled again as the wash from a distant motorboat slapped and tickled against her thighs. This was better, it was fun again now.
Further out the waves were white-tipped and rolling towards her, and she remembered the picture book she and Daddy had read just before coming here. A fairy tale princess had caught a beautiful white horse on a wave, and rode away to the place where the sea joined up with the sky. If only she could do that too. She stood on tiptoe and walked a few paces to see if there were any white horses nearby.
Quite suddenly the water was deeper, and it was freezing cold too; it was splashing right up over her tummy. A larger wave almost lifted her off her feet and she cried out in panic, sobbing when she realised that she had dropped Granny’s beautiful shell. Tears hot on her cheeks and teeth chattering, she struggled to regain her balance then waded a few steps in the direction of where the shell had vanished.
But the shell was nowhere to be seen. The water took hold of her again, pulling at her and pulling and all at once it was right up to her chin and there were no white horses at all, just cold cold water. It got in her eyes and nose and in her mouth, too, when she tried to shout for help.
Salty water was burning in her nose and pulling her down; the sea was filling her up and washing her away and she couldn’t stop it. The whole world was getting smaller… it was so cold. She was floating in cold white water now, just floating, and then suddenly everything was gone.
Part One
The Beach
Chapter One
August 22nd
Maggie stood in the doorway and stared into Olivia’s bedroom. It was tiny, like all the rooms in the cottage, but this one was still. Toys, games… everything in here had been motionless for a week now. Baby dolls vied with Barbies on the shelf, an assortment of soft toys lay strewn across the bed, and Olivia’s darling Old Bear was sitting on a wooden chair by the window.
Maggie could hear the sea battering against the cliffs. High tide. The beach would be covered in water now; surging, white-tipped waves beneath a flawless blue sky. How beautiful Cornwall was, and how lucky they were to have a holiday cottage here. That’s what they’d thought until last week, anyway. If this had been a normal day they’d have been picnicking on the clifftop, or shopping in Newquay. Or just relaxing around the cottage, laughing and squabbling and eating too much. All the usual holiday stuff.
But nothing was normal any more, and Maggie knew that tomorrow was going to be the worst day yet. The twenty-third of August. Olivia’s birthday. Right now Maggie and her daughter should have been making the cake Olivia had planned so happily, the raspberry jam sponge with pink icing and four pink and white candles.
No need for any of that now. Maggie stepped into the room, grabbed the pillow from the bed and buried her face in it, inhaling deeply, searching for one final whiff of Olivia, one last particle of her child. But the only smells left were those of an unused room: stale air and dust.
‘Livvy, come back to me, baby,’ she whispered, replacing the pillow and cradling Old Bear instead, tears burning in her eyes as she remembered holding Olivia like this, when Joe had whacked her with a plastic golf club on the second day of their holiday. She’d had two children then. She hadn’t known how lucky she was.
‘I didn’t mean it, I didn’t.’
Her voice cracked, and she fell forwards, her kneecaps thudding painfully on the wooden floor. How could she live on, in a world without Olivia?
‘I’m sorry, Livvy, I’m sorry!’
She had barely spoken aloud all week, and the words came out in an unrecognisable high-pitched whimper. Bent over Old Bear on the floor, Maggie began to weep. Her voice echoed round the empty cottage as she rocked back and forth, crying out her distress.
But no-one was there to hear
